


Tendencies, The Retention of

by orphan_account



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:04:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Finch and Reese have, somehow, grown old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tendencies, The Retention of

**Author's Note:**

> Because the likelihood of us actually getting to see old!Reese and old!Harold is tiny and I just want them to grow old together and be adorable with velcro shoes and walkers and just... everything.
> 
> Also, this is the first fic I've actually finished writing this fandom, so, uh, please be gentle?

The grocery store is old and somewhat rundown, but the prices are reasonable and the produce fresh, so the few people who know it exists are willing to look past its shabby exterior.

If they knew the owner, a middle aged man with long blond curls and baby blue eyes, is an Italian ex-con and not just an inoffensive immigrant with an eye for customer service, some might change their minds, but Erasmo Valentini does no harm here in his little corner of South Bronx, so those who do know his secret past feel no need to share it.

That they, too, have secrets, is a relevant but unspoken point.

Saturdays are busy days for most shops, but di Valentini has only small groups of regulars, which leaves it quiet and mostly empty, the way the owner prefers it, because he can ensure all his customers leave with every item they wanted- in particular when it comes to the men who saved his grandson from being sent to prison for a crime he didn't commit.

That's the biggest rule, one even the new cashier- Lincoln, the son of a friend's son, who's got too much time on his hands- knows.

Eleven o'clock they come in, as promised, and even as he glances at the clock, the tell-tale sound of the electric door opening heralds the arrival of Valentini's favorites.

At first glance, they seem the same as all the other customers: old, elderly, even; frail- more the shorter of the two, who leans heavily on a walker as he quietly glides toward the fruit- and pallid- again, more the shorter man- under the fluorescent lights; uninterested in the teenager by the register and uninteresting themselves.

Becoming a successful computer hacker and grade-changer requires more than computer knowledge, which is why Lincoln does what few bother to do. He looks again.

The second, taller man is far from uninterested. He checks every corner before his companion reaches it, glances over his shoulder every minute or so and despite his age, has a lean frame and impeccable posture. The smaller one is no less interesting. He moves stiffly, less so when the other man puts a hand on his back, but his fingers are quick and sure as he inspects each fruit before rejecting it or putting it in a bag. Sometimes he turns to the taller man, who leans over slightly to put his ear closer, and says something too low for Lincoln to hear, but makes the tall man chuckle.

It takes five minutes for the cashier to decide calling them "the small man" and "the tall man" isn't working. The walker has little birds engraved low on one leg, so, because it's the only one that comes to mind other than the too-specific peregrine falcon, the small man's name becomes Finch. The other is harder to name, but eventually the tall man reaches into his pocket, pulls out an orange packet and, with a little grin for his friend, empties it into his mouth- which is how he becomes Reese.

Lincoln has never claimed to be a good name-giver. At least these are easy to remember.

Neither ignores the boy watching them, but neither says anything, either. They're quiet as they get their groceries and quiet as they put them on the conveyor. Finch is the one who pays- with exact change- and Reese hefts the bags- two full paper bags, one mini bag, the contents of which Lincoln couldn't remember if he tried- before walking out, quite obviously purposefully putting himself in front of Finch as the automatic doors open for them.

They make their way to a dark car parked just outside, which Reese hurries to unlock, getting the passenger side doors open and stepping aside in time to take Finch's walker and toss it into the back, before shutting the door with an melodramatic flourish. If the way he ducks his head and scratches his neck, looking like he's half a step away from scuffing his foot, after looking at his friend's face is any indication, Finch is less than impressed.

Deciding he's learned all he can, Lincoln's about to turn away when he notices the grip Finch takes on Reese's arms as he shuffles forward. It's oddly intimate, the closeness between them as the small man struggles to make his way to his seat. Before he actually manages to get in the car, though, Reese steps closer, one hand coming to rest on Finch's face as he leans in, hunching so their foreheads touch, then dropping to steal a quick kiss.

They aren't so far away the massive grin on his face isn't visible, and it's still there after he's helped Finch, who's grown unexpectedly pliant, into his seat.

It isn't until after they've driven off that the cashier realizes he's got a smile of his own, and it will be years before he finds out Finch and Reese not only know who he is but are the ones who've been sending him the mysterious e-mails from an untraceable account.

The one he finds that night asks:

_How do you feel about libraries?_


End file.
